


Adjective challenge 6 – Critical

by Ruuuka



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:07:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25896427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruuuka/pseuds/Ruuuka
Summary: How these two goofs first met as children.
Relationships: Loki & Sif (Marvel), Loki/Sif (Marvel)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 11





	Adjective challenge 6 – Critical

**Author's Note:**

> 'Tis part of a scribble-series on [Tumblr](https://intensitystoner.tumblr.com/tagged/sifki-adjective-challenge). Not sure how relevant the title is-

Their acquaintance went way back, even further than others knew. Sif had lived about seven years when she first encountered the younger prince, surprisingly out of the palace walls, completely alone, lurking within the thicket of direweed bushes that lay across the ‘training field’, as she named it, behind her parents’ house.

“What are you doing among those poisonous leaves?” she inquired.

A minute’s silence would have suggested that the boy was deaf or mute, but then he spoke up at last, his tone hushed.

“Hiding from the bilgesnipe.”

“Bilgesnipe?”

“It’s searching the area and seeking to destroy. Come in, or it’ll find you!”

Incredulously, Sif looked around on the field and among the nearby buildings. Everything was quiet, save for the croaking critters.

“There is no bilgesnipe,” she pointed out mercilessly. “You just climbed in there and are now stuck.”

“I’m not stuck!”

“Doesn’t it hurt?”

“No. I’m a sorcerer, I can do way better than you or your simple kind.”

“I’m not simple!”

“Then come in already before you’re found!”

She frowned and shook her head to emphasize her abhorrence from such purposeful self harm.

“No.”

Some children ran along the nearby road, their trampling and laughter echoed far away. The boy stirred, the foliage rustled as he fidgeted around under it; then he suddenly burst out of the hiding, silent as the dead. While he took his time straightening up from the hunched position, the girl could observe and recognise the royal markings on his clothes; his raven hair wavy and dishevelled, and the angry red marks slowly spreading all over his skin.

“It really doesn’t hurt?” she asked dumbfounded. Her one time experience with the vicious plant and her parents’ scold were enough to teach her at an early age.

“Guess what, it doesn’t!” the princeling yelled at her with a voice thick with insult. “And now you receive the honour of aiding me in my sorceric act!”

“You’re rude, I don’t want to aid you,” she announced, causing him to step up to her slightly taller form.

“Then you’ll be beheaded,” he spat into her face.

“If I’ll be beheaded then I’ll cut _your_ head off,” she retorted in the same manner.

“Then I’ll have you gutted!”

“Then I’ll cut off your limbs!”

“Then I’ll slice out your tongue!”

“Then I’ll cut you in half!”

“Then I’ll-” he stopped abruptly with a stiff look over her shoulder, and then he darted out in the opposite direction.

“Then what, you’ll run away, coward?” she yelled after him in triumph.

“I have no time for your empty bragging, I need water to perform my mighty spell.”

“There’s water in my house,” she called after him. “You can apologise and I’ll let you in.”

“No! It has to be natural water, and no people around! It’s a secret spell!”

After he threw himself into the thick forest farther from the direweed bushes, she glanced towards the group of boys at the other end of the field; one of them with hair shining like gold in the sunlight, and another one rising above the group with his size. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion – she prided herself in the talent of smelling injustice from afar, and in her tirelessly bettered ability to act upon it. However, she’s also been enlightened by her loving father (after one time she beat up a nursery schooler for supposedly stealing her big brother’s favourite puppet), that to make a fair decision, proof was more important than just intuition. So, instead of picking a fight she was confident in winning, she jogged after the dark-haired prince.

“Do those boys want to hurt you?” she inquired as she caught up to the heavily panting eloper.

“No,” he breathed huskily while holding tightly onto a branch he passed. “Why would they? They’re scared of my power, as you should be.”

“You’re wrong, and I’ll prove it to you. Not now, don’t worry. Water is this way.”

She led him through the thinnest part of the wood on a route she knew had no harmful plants obstructing them. The quiet sloshing of a river called for them as they climbed up a hill. The princeling grew increasingly tardy at it; he took special joy in resting his forehead on a soft pile of leaves.

“The poison does affect you,” she derived.

“It doesn’t _hurt_. That’s what I said,” he hissed irately and clambered on with furious effort.

“You know, I think it does. You’re a liar.”

“And you’re as ugly as Sæhrímnir.”

She punched him in the head for that, and though the boy didn’t utter a sound when falling, she immediately regretted it. To counter her impulsive deed, she hooked her arm into his and helped him climb the rest of the hill.

They near-tumbled down the other side to the water. The prince didn’t hesitate to get deep enough in it so he could lie with only his face and ears out of the water. After a minute’s observation, Sif frowned again.

“This is not magic. Everyone does this when bitten by direweed.”

“I told you, this spell is not to be seen by people. You are people,” the brat let her know with a dark look. “Or are you a boar as you look?”

Regret or not, she would have kicked him for that, if familiar laughter hadn’t hit her ears in the middle of her move. The other kids were fooling around somewhere farther in the forest, and by the sound of it, they had a great time pulverising logs. With great splashing, the princeling drew back further into the water towards the overhanging foliage nearby, until he was chin high in.

This time, neither of them commented. It was serious trouble. Being beat up by a group of others was as mortifying in the world’s eyes as birthing from an unannounced parent.

Without a word or a promise, Sif climbed up the hill, followed by the boy’s hissing commands to stay put. She knew they might find them anyway if they stayed around, so she would not take any risks. Proof be damned. The look in the boy’s eyes was proof enough. He was weakened and exposed, and she had had enough martial self-training by now to deal with a bunch of spoiled palace brats.

Well, she did manage to divert their attention, at least. After they took sufficient revenge for the shower of insults on their man-parts and brains, they took off to help the elder prince to the infirmary (he was laughing even with his once golden hair stuck in clots from the blood), and to fill up on risalamande in the royal kitchens.

“Told you so,” the remaining prince sung in malicious delight upon her sight.

She remained silent to hold back the undignified sobs while she stumbled down to the water and sat on her heels to wash the blood off her skin and clothes. She stared stubbornly into nothing while the boy observed her tear soaked face from the corner of his eyes.

Only when he moved out of the water next to her and started climbing the slope did she burst out harshly.

“Aren’t you going to heal me? I got all torn up because of you, you know!”

“Why me? It was your choice! _You’re_ stupid like that, not me!” he yelled at the grass before him.

She was swifter than either of them expected; she grabbed his clothes from behind and threw him back on the river bank, causing him to yelp from the crash.

“Heal me!” she demanded while he clambered to his feet swiftly.

His large teal eyes flickered all over her body, the small but numerous cuts on her arms, the darkening spot near her jaw, the tearing on her silken skirt and tights. Desperation grew on his face: good, he better be scared of her finally. Then suddenly, he changed and his lips curled into despise.

“You don’t deserve it, you’re just a servant!” he barked.

“I am no one’s servant! You will treat me with your magic!” she yelled and approached threateningly, causing him to back up towards the water.

“You can’t command me! You’re nobody! You deserve all this for your idiocy! You’ll never be worthy of such blessing!”

“It’s because I’m a girl, too, isn’t it?” she yelled so hard her throat hurt like her heart. “It’s because only men can battle, right? Because a girl can’t get battle scars, just boo-boos because she’s foolhardy, right? A girl can’t hold weapons, they shouldn’t need to protect anyone, right?”

“Damn right!” the prince agreed snarling.

“I will join the King’s army!” she retorted in spite.

“Then you’ll be in _my_ army and I will command you!”

“A King doesn’t only give commands, he takes care of his people, too! If you want to be King, you have to heal me!”

“You wouldn’t have got hurt if you hadn’t gone there! This is _your_ doing, so take care of it yourself!”

She wept and let the selfish prince sneak past her, his feet heavily pummelling the grass as he hurried away. The pain throbbed badly in her wounds, and the tears now flowed steadily out of her, no matter how she wiped it with her palms. She crouched down to ease the pain in her muscles. After today, she was sure, her parents would never speak to her again. Better so. It would make it easier for her to sneak off and become a warrior serving King Odin.

She started as the familiar steps approached again, trudging through the thicket with great fervour. She stared over her shoulder at the prince: he descended the slope, something dangling from his hand. With an icy glare at the ground by her feet, he slammed a pouch onto the wet gravel, and he rocketed up the slope again. By the time she remembered to blink, even his sound was gone.

She barely believed to recognise the dull glint in the carelessly closed bag, so she peeked into it with great care, and the sight made her gasp. Like most magical objects, healing stones were extremely rare, and she had never seen this many in one place.

-

She was forgiven at home, although it cost another one of those horrible soul talks aiming to better her views. She kept on practicing in the field when unseen, and she never saw the prince around here again. He never came back for the pouch, so after a while, she grew brave enough to take further stones from it when her wounds were severe. To be honest, she barely even thought about the boy himself, except on cleaning days, when she needed something to huff and puff about while forced to do chores.

Then one evening when she went to close the shutters of her room, the moonlight ran along something on the sill.

Lips parted in awe, she held up the seven-inch dagger with care and admired it for a minute before all else. How many of such fine work had she seen on the market day by day, how she had longed to hold just one of them! Of course she wasn’t allowed, not by her parents and not by the vendors. _But now_ …!

It had come with a letter, though without the recipient’s name on it, but she had no siblings at home to compete for the privilege. The message inside was short and written with barely any straying curves:

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_From a secret admirer,_

_Prince Loki_

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The widest smile shone on her face as she carried the gifts inside, intent to spend the night admiring them. The chance for a good sleep was gone – impatience for tomorrow’s sun to rise and have her train outside was flaring brightly in her chest. She had no time to waste, she _had_ to come of age as soon as possible, and then offer her already outstanding services before the throne, in the welcoming circle of gold-clad guards. She had a secret admirer waiting for her there, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> (The intricate love letter is a rip-off from _Young Sheldon_ ep3.)


End file.
